


Show Me Your Secrets, And I’ll Show You My Sins

by Hallianna



Series: Of Other Than Bardic Beginnings [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Beginnings AU, Dark Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Everyone Is Gay, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Flirting, Jaskier is a BAMF, M/M, Secrets, Spies & Secret Agents, geralt hates parties, jaskier au, jaskier is a spy au, no fluff just dirty deeds in the dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: He’s the best spy on the whole Continent but Jaskier likes his anonymity. Sent to the high society event of the year, he’s determined to make everyone’s secrets his business. But when he learns a Witcher will be in attendance, Jaskier’s focus changes. It’s very hard to ignore the massive, beautiful man brooding in the corner, and cozying up to him isn’t exactly a hardship.Another Jaskier origins AU, featuring spy!Jaskier and very grouchy Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Of Other Than Bardic Beginnings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069358
Comments: 28
Kudos: 235





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Third in the series! The others feature innkeeper!Jaskier and bookseller!Jaskier. As always timelines are wibbly-wobbly or don’t mean shite here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me!

“Why is it you won’t go prowling around in the dark with me? It’s quite fun.”

Lutz slapped Jaskier’s hand away from his collar. “If you keep fussing with this, it’ll get creased and you’ll be a mess.”

“It’s a collar, Lutz. I’m fastidious, but this is -”

Lutz wagged a finger in his face. “Don’t say it.”

“Obsessive.”

Lutz groaned and swiped a hand down his face. “Just….for the love of all that’s holy, don’t touch it again or I’ll put a knife in your ribs and throw you out the window.”

Jaskier dropped his hand and pulled a face. “Fine. But don’t let it go to your head.”

Lutz smirked. “I never do.” He stepped back and gazed as Jaskier with an assessing eye. “I told you that grey was perfect. It makes your eyes stand out.”

Jaskier batted his lashes as if he were trying to dislodge something. “Are you calling me pretty?”

“Ugh.” Lutz motioned to Jaskier with a flourish. “Double check everything. You won’t be able to sneak back here in the middle of the party without attracting attention. And I’m not going to save your ass at the last second. This is not like Lady Douthmire’s ball last winter.”

Jaskier’s eyes went dreamy as he stared off into the middle distance. “That was a lovely party. Such good wine, excellent food -”

“You nearly got killed.”

“I did not! It was a flesh wound, nothing more.”

“Ugh.”

But Jaskier dutifully checked his belt - two concealed daggers, tiny vial of a powerful sleeping draught, and a handful of healing herbs, just in case things got tricky. He wasn’t actually expecting trouble at this party, as it was a celebration of the engagement of some rich noble’s daughter to another rich noble’s daughter. It was all quite boring and while he knew their names, they weren’t important to his goal.

No, his job was to be the perfect little spy and collect the most valuable thing from the party’s _guests_ \- secrets. And this was the event to be at this season, so he expected everyone to be turned out in their finest jewels and clothes and bring all their personal baggage, too.

For three years he’d been under the employ of Lord Rainroth, fifth in line to the Redanian throne. Rainroth was an upstanding man, despite his lineage and wealth, and had been the perfect patron for Jaskier. He provided money when requested, put Jaskier up in the only the finest inns, and partnered him with Lutz, who was charming, handsome, and ridiculous. They got on like drowners on a corpse, delighting in the entrails of high society.

_That’s a horrible metaphor, old boy. Absolutely atrocious._

By all accounts, Lutz should have been Rainroth’s top spy. And he had been, until a fall from a horse broke his arm and infection set in. Now they split the work - Lutz mingled and danced and eavesdropped, while Jaskier charmed, seduced, and when necessary, threw people off buildings. To be fair, that rarely ever happened; he preferred poison for deadly encounters and sleeping potions when subtlety was required. Tonight he carried no poison, but it would have been foolish to go unarmed.

“Heard anything else about the illustrious, glittering jewels attending tonight’s ball?” Jaskier asked as he stared in the mirror and flicked an errant piece of hair out of his eyes.

A conniving look crossed Lutz’s face. “Saved the best for last, my friend.” He grinned, his perfectly symmetrical, handsome features alight with mischief. “We’re close to the mountains.”

“And?”

“This is a political engagement that impacts the entire North.”

Jaskier sighed. “Fine, let’s play your little game. Yes, and all the who’s-who of this part of the world will be in attendance.” He put his hands on his hips. “And?”

Lutz’s grin grew. “The Witchers are sending an Envoy.”

“What?” Jaskier dropped his hands. “You’re joking.”

Lutz put a hand over his heart. “Swear it on my mother’s grave, may her soul rot.”

Jaskier took three big steps and got very close to Lutz. “You’d better not be fooling.”

Lutz’s eyes rolled. “I already said I wasn’t! Personal space, _Julian_.” He gave Jaskier a little shove and Jaskier stumbled back dramatically. “A Witcher. Rainroth would cream himself.”

A dozen plans flew through Jaskier’s mind. The secrets, the stories, the _possibilities_. Rainroth loved Witchers, loved stories about them (no matter how exaggerated), and every letter he ever sent to Kaer Morhen went unanswered. But tonight, they could bring Rainroth the one thing that had eluded his money and influence and power.

Stories from a Witcher. Secrets from a Witcher. Maybe even the Witcher himself, if Jaskier offered enough gold and favors.

“Oh Lutz, this is going to be the perfect night. The Witcher could have the personality of a mud bubble and we’ll make out like bandits.”

“Like spies, all proper and shit,” Lutz teased, grey eyes darkening with possibility.

* * *

Geralt hated these things. The music was too loud. There were too many people, and they all smelled like too many herbs and strange scent concoctions that made his head swim. The only thing to do was to park next to the buffet table, cross his arms, and stare menacingly. 

Except he couldn’t cross his arms all the way because of the stupid fucking ridiculous outfit he had to wear to _fit in_. It was too tight, he couldn’t move freely if a fight broke out, and there was a good chance any movement besides walking would split the pants that absolutely were cutting off his circulation.

If Lambert were here he’d laugh himself stupid at the entire situation. _Why did Vesemir send me? I’m not a people pleaser like Eskel and I don’t take delight in my own suffering the way Lambert does. Clearly I pissed him off. Better take him back some books or scrolls. Wonder if this town has a bookstore._

Geralt ripped his gaze from the dizzying swirl of dancers in their brightly colored garments to swiftly palm an apple from the table. At least the food was good and the wine better. But this was all too “civilized” for someone like Geralt. And what was worse was that these simpering, air-headed nobles were mostly playing at being civilized. He knew as well as anyone else that there was plenty of backstabbing, spying, and fucking going on tonight.

Thankfully after the novelty of a Witcher in their midst had died down, most people were avoiding him. Which also meant he had this end of the buffet to himself. Geralt bit into the apple, which was pleasantly tart, and crunched loudly. One man in a ridiculously red doublet gave him a dirty look, which Geralt returned with a sneer. Realizing he’d made a mistake, the man made a noise of surprise and scurried away.

Geralt chuckled. “I hate these fucking things.”

“So do I.”

From nowhere a man had appeared at Geralt’s elbow. Dark grey silk fit his lithe body like a glove and Geralt tried not to notice that the man looked far more comfortable in his finery than Geralt could ever feel. Especially because the man’s pants actually fit without being too tight.

Not that he was jealous or anything. Definitely didn’t notice any particular details.

The stranger looked at Geralt with bright blue eyes - impossibly blue, which was unfair - and smiled beautifically. “Everyone wants to go to a ball until they get there and realize it’s a borderline incestuous affair full of underhandedness, scheming, and spying as everyone jockeys for a tiny bit of power.”

Geralt sighed and crossed his arms. Or nearly did. He felt a seam on his right side protest the movement so he dropped his arms. “So why are you here? Part of the staff?”

The man laughed and it was - damn it all, it was a _delightful_ sound. “I’m an underhanded, scheming spy, my darling Witcher.”


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt scoffed. “Pretty sure you’re not the only one unarmed here.” His eyes flicked to the bejeweled belt that hung low on the man’s hips. “Those daggers are only dangerous if you know where to stick them.”

Jaskier couldn’t stop the smirk from spreading on his face. “Care to give me a few pointers? I’d think a Witcher would know exactly where to -“

Geralt drained a goblet of wine in one swig, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and set the goblet down on the edge of the table. “Thought spies weren’t supposed to reveal their identities. So you’re either an idiot or very bad at your job.”

“Or I’m very  _ good _ at my job. Who suspects the spy who proclaims to be one?”

Geralt reached for another goblet of wine. “Don’t know, don’t care.” And he went back to staring at the dance floor. A waltz had started up and in the middle of the swirling mass was the happily engaged couple. 

Jaskier stifled a chuckle. The man actually had the personality of a mud bubble, but he looked like a god. Nothing wrong with being shallow, especially at a ball. He idly wondered if those thick thighs encased in ridiculously tight pants would have any give if he were to sit on them. 

So instead of voicing aloud that naughty little thought, he asked, “So what do you like, Witcher?”

The Witcher’s brow furrowed, his stare now assessing. Like he could peel back Jaskier’s various layers and look right into his core. Jaskier was used to being undressed by the eyes of the rich; it’s why he wore clothing on the right side of too tight, kept his hair long, and lined his eyes with kohl. But something about that stare, from those gold cat eyes of the Witcher, had him breathing just a little faster.

_ Me, horny at a society event? Never. I’m not thinking at all about being bent over a table by those big hands. Hands that have probably tore apart all manner of creatures. Hands that have been covered in blood. Hands that wield massive swords. Oh fuck, why is that hot? _

“I like being left alone.” The voice was now a grumble emanating up from the Witcher’s barrel chest.

“And fortunately for you, my fine Witcher, I’m not so easily deterred.” Jaskier motioned to the table. “Would you hand me a glass of wine?” 

Geralt silently passed him the requested goblet and watched Jaskier take a delicate sniff. “Ah, the twenty year Est Est. Not nearly as good as the thirty year, but I suppose this is just an engagement party. They’ll keep the best stuff in reserve for the wedding.”

Silence. Not even an acknowledgement of his chatter. The Witcher didn’t know it, but every word he didn’t speak, the grip of his fist around his goblet, even the tight line of his spine spoke volumes.

After a few moments of quiet between them, Jaskier tried again. He’d find the crack in the man’s wall if it took all night. “So as Envoy, aren’t you supposed to be mingling?”

“Probably.”

“And you’re not because….”

“There’s no point.”

That couldn’t go unanswered. “My dear Witcher -“

“Geralt.”

As Jaskier had suspected. Witchers were rare, and to his knowledge there was only one with long white hair. “Look at us, already on a first name basis. I’m Jaskier. A pleasure, Geralt.” He gave a deep, courtly bow, which Geralt only raised an eyebrow at. “Something wrong?”

Now the Witcher shifted uncomfortably. “No need for that.”

Jaskier scoffed. “What, propriety? Oh, please.”

Geralt’s jaw worked, as though he had to masticate the words before spitting them out. “Nobody bows to a Witcher.”

“That seems impolite at best.” If Jaskier stared hard enough, he could see the hairline fracture in the wall around Geralt. “But fine, I won’t bruise your ego any further.” He got a grunt of acknowledgement before Geralt went back to shoring up the wallpaper. “And speaking of propriety, I never did get an answer to my question.”

“Yes, you did.”

Jaskier sighed playfully. “All right fine. You like being left alone. Anything else?”

“Not being at these fucking things.”

“So no society events.”

“No.”

He motioned to Geralt’s half-full goblet. “You seem to be enjoying the wine.”

Geralt peered down into his cup. “It’s wine. It tastes good and if you drink enough, you have a good night and a bad morning.”

Jaskier snorted. “Too right you are.” Geralt’s steely gaze bore into him and Jaskier felt his throat tighten. Then he had an idea. “I’m assuming, given your occupation and its hazards, you like weapons.”

Geralt shifted again, his hips working against those horribly,  _ wonderfully _ tight pants. “A sword is only good as its wielder.”

“That’s not an answer.” And having given up on propriety and sussing out the Witcher’s inclinations, Jaskier crooked a finger at him. “Come on, then.”

Geralt was torn. He was supposed to be a representative for the Witchers, but he was pretty sure Vesemir had been taking the piss out of him with this assignment. And the spy, or whatever he was, was pretty to look at and had been mildly entertaining. Too chatty by half but it gave Geralt a chance to admire his blue eyes and pouty lips. And Jaskier’s company had kept others from asking him to dance.

“Hmm.” So he followed.


	3. Chapter 3

Jaskier led Geralt deep into the manor, well past the point of what could be considered open territory for guests. Geralt noticed the man seemed to know exactly where he was going and if he hadn’t been suspicious before, he definitely was now. His swords were under lock and key and while he wasn’t concerned about being overpowered by a single human man, he was aware that this could easily be a trap.

As they walked down a semi-dark hallway, Geralt focused his senses. The man in front of him was a bright, pulsing beacon of mortal life and smelled of lavender and lemon and something musky but not unpleasant. He had long caught the whiff of the sleeping potion and herbs secreted away in Jaskier’s pockets, but hadn’t scented any poison. Which went against everything he knew about spies, and that wasn’t much. 

Geralt slowed his steps, sniffing as they walked. He’d yet to walk into an ambush that didn’t smell at least a tad like piss and burnt hair smell of fear. But as they went, he mostly caught the scents of dust and wood polish. Still cautious as they neared a door that Jaskier was clearly headed toward, the sharp tang of sword oil and the warmth of leather hit his nostrils. “And this is?” He asked softly, watching Jaskier turn with a delighted smile.

“Ah, he speaks! Yes, my friend, here we are. One of the best rooms in this stupidly large manor.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “And I should trust this isn’t a trap because….”

Jaskier grinned. “I haven’t lied to you yet.” 

“So you say.”

“Are all you Witchers so suspicious?” He motioned to the door behind him. “I happen to know the lord of the house keeps an extensive collection of weapons behind this door. Mostly for display. He fancies himself quite the student of history.”

Geralt stepped forward, crowding Jaskier against the door. They were of a similar height but Jaskier had never felt more small than this moment, crushed between the door and the hard, hot body of the Witcher. For Melitele’s sake, the man wasn’t even  _ touching _ him and Jaskier was near panting. “You first,” Geralt rumbled, reaching behind him for the doorknob.

Jaskier felt behind him for the door and caught only empty space as the door swung inward. There absolutely would not be anyone in here, particularly since the room was tucked away on the manor’s third floor and only a few people knew about it. The last time he’d been in here was Rainroth’s birthday. Jaskier had been on his arm as both eye candy and a spy, Rainroth trusting that Jaskier would flirt and seduce his way through the intimate party’s guests before ducking off into the night, leaving Rainroth to his pleasures. 

And since one didn’t hold an orgy in a room full of priceless antique weapons, he’d been able to circle back once the party moved on. It was a collection to make any curator drool but Jaskier’d had his eye on one piece in particular. A pretty little sheath that fit to the forearm and concealed a blade so sharp it could cut hair with one slice. He was no thief, but he did want to make note of the weapon’s design to have one commissioned.

And if he and the impossibly handsome Witcher bonded over deadly blades, so be it. It was another part of the fun, the flirtations; the hot, heavy breaths on the back of one’s neck from standing too close, or the brush of fingers as you passed each other. At this point, he’d take a good long stare from Geralt as flirtation.

Seeing his face scrunch in surprise at the room of lovingly displayed weapons just beyond was a good start.

“Thought I was trying to lure you into a trap?” Jaskier asked, leaning forward a little. “I’m a lot of things, Master Witcher, but I’m not stupid.” He gave Geralt a coy look through his lashes. “I know you could snap me in half with those hands. And I like being alive too much to go up against someone with your strength.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed but he scraped that too-hot gaze over Jaskier’s face. He wasn’t entirely sure what the man was playing at, but he also got the feeling Jaskier didn’t do so lightly. Despite his flippant attitude. It would have been simple to write him off as another dandied noble, or the playtoy of one. But he was too calculated, too measured underneath the frivolity. 

A spy, he said. Geralt had to figure he was likely a very good one. “Hmmm. Hard to lure someone into a trap that they can smell from several dozen yards away,” he replied. “If you’d had people in there, you wouldn’t have been able to hide them from me.”

Jaskier gaped. “So the rumors are true! How delightful. We hear all kinds of dirty little things about Witchers and their abilities.” He let his voice go a little breathless, a little deeper. “And about their….stamina.”

“Hmmm.” With one long look at Jaskier, Geralt smoothly moved around him and walked into the room. Jaskier gave himself a little shake and followed, fighting the urge to look at Geralt’s ass. 

The room was covered in glass display cases, open wood boxes with velvet linings, and various other pedestals and stands for easily a hundred different weapons. They were beautiful - massive greataxes with leather wrapped handles; thick wood crossbows with ornately carved arms and delicate, intricate triggers; and even tiny, jeweled daggers no bigger than a steak knife but sharper than Geralt’s silver sword.

Jaskier ran his hand lovingly over the case containing the assassin’s stealth knife and forearm sheath. “There you are, my darling. I’ve come back, and I’ve brought company.”

Geralt froze, concern flashing over his face. “That better not be a sentient weapon.”

Jaskier looked startled.  _ Nice to know he can be _ , Geralt thought with a smirk. “What? My gods, no. It’s a pretty piece but very much not alive.”

“I said sentient, not alive.”

“Such things exist?”

Geralt shrugged. “Stranger things, Jaskier.”

“Well I….I admit, you’ve flabbergasted me.” He patted the knife’s case lovingly (to be safe, surely not out of superstition) then sidled up to Geralt. “Sentient weapons? Talking weapons?” He blinked, and Geralt saw a curious grin cross his face.

“There have been rumors. Mabe tall tale is more accurate.” He meandered over to a glass case wherein a gorgeous longsword sat glinting in the low light. “Those of Elder Blood crafted weapons that could respond to their master’s call, even from miles away. The oldest of these weapons did gain some level of sentience, able to communicate needs and desires. Most notably a pair of axes.”

“Fury’s Fate.”

The name dropped like a lead weight in the otherwise quiet room. Geralt nodded, one curt movement of his head. “So you do know.”

“I know that one.” Jaskier knew that name for two reasons - because he studied at Oxenfurt and spent far too much time in the legends and folklore section of the university’s library; and because among his many obsessions and fascinations, Rainroth believed Fury’s Fate was real and had, upon agreement of their employment, besieged Jaskier with a plea to bring back any information he ever discovered of the weapon.

And now a Witcher, of all people, was casually discussing it as though an ancient, sentient, paired weapon were the day’s weather.

Geralt must have sensed something in Jaskier’s tone because he said flatly, “It’s not real. Witchers have, on occasion, searched for it.”

Jaskier deflated. “Truly? Well, doesn’t that just beat all.” He ran a finger over the finely crafted edge of the glass case on the longsword. “My employer would love to know Fury’s Fate was real.”

Geralt crouched to peer at the weapon before them. “You can tell him a Witcher said so.”

“I don’t know that it will help. He’s a tad….obsessed.” And speaking of obsessed, Jaskier couldn’t help but admire the long line of Geralt’s spine, leading to an ass that begged to be grabbed.  _ You’re working. Don’t do it. That Witcher could snap your spine with his bare hands. _

_ Or he could split me open while I tell him how fine of a cock he has. _

_ Goddammit. _

He cleared his throat. “What about this piece?”

Anger flared hot in Geralt’s chest as he spotted the tiny carving on the sword’s hilt. “It’s a Witcher weapon. Griffin school.” He followed the line of the blade, admiring its edge, which was still sharp. “Not a named weapon, but definitely one of ours.”

Jaskier saw that strong jaw tense and Geralt’s hands flex on his thighs before he stood. “I know the lord of the manor. I can make a request -“

Geralt slashed a hand through the air and stared down at Jaskier. “No. It’s Witcher business. I’ll make a request. Is he reasonable?”

“The lord of the manor?” Jaskier paused to consider. “He can be. He’s not motivated by money. Favors tend to work better.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt gave the sword one more glance before turning away. “Good to know.”

Something tugged at Jaskier, watching Geralt give the weapon a look that was both admiring and sad at the same time. “Did you know its wielder?”

“No. But I know someone who had a similar sword.” A pause. “Knew someone.”

A story. A Witcher story. Valuable, yes. But Jaskier frowned upon watching Geralt’s proud stance suddenly become tired. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” 

Jaskier had to ask. “How long? I know you Witchers live lengthy life spans.”

“If we’re lucky.”

Jaskier inclined his head. “If you’re skilled and lucky, true.” He smiled. “You’re here. You must be both.”

Geralt snorted. “My scars say otherwise.”

The opening was right there. Jaskier could taste its possibilities on his tongue, bursting like a sweet summer berry. He took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Care for a little show and tell?” The smirk on his face grew, its edge sharper than the sword behind them. “I’ll show you mine….”

* * *

The spy was  _ flirting _ with him? Geralt blinked, certain he’d heard wrong. The man was flirtatious but that seemed to be both his nature and ingrained in how he operated. He may not have believed him to be a spy at first but now, watching how he held himself, how smoothly and silently he moved.

Definitely a spy. Skilled, charismatic, intelligent. Why Jaskier wasn’t employed by some regent baffled Geralt; he’d be the center of any court he stepped into.

He was also very good looking. Geralt was trying to ignore the man’s soft voice, the kohl-lined blue eyes that reminded Geralt of bluebells outside Kaer Morhen. 

“I’ve a mind to return to the party,” Jaskier said, breaking across Geralt’s thoughts like a wave. “Unless you’d like to accompany me on a few dirty little deeds in dark rooms.”

Geralt frowned. The suggestion was right there for the taking. As easy to grab as the temptation of Jaskier’s ass so near to his hand. “Spy things, I’m assuming?”

There was that smile again, tipped with danger and the promise of a lingering touch across skin. “A bit. Unless you’ve got something more interesting to offer.”

This had moved beyond flirting. The man was practically propositioning him. It made Geralt wonder why. “I’m not going to fuck you in a room full of weapons,” he muttered, trying to ignore the heat of Jaskier’s gaze.

The man’s eyes went dark and Geralt felt their pull like a hand at his waist. “But you would fuck me if we found the right room.”

“Yeah.”

As smoothly as he’d ever seen a human move, Jaskier slid next to him and put a hand on Geralt’s chest. “Then let’s find the right room.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Ah yes, lovely party Lady Smithton! Absolutely lovely.” Lutz smiled graciously, bowed, and then walked as quickly as propriety would allow to the edge of the ballroom. 

_Where in the blazing hells did Jaskier get to?_

That man stood out in any room in which he dared walk and he chose _now_ to disappear? “You’d better be finding the most salacious gossip to ever grace any gilded hall ever,” Lutz cursed as he slipped out a side door and, sticking to the shadows, quickly walked past the kitchens. A long, narrow service corridor ran down the back of the house; and since it was part of their planned escape route, Lutz figured he’d start there.

He muttered as he stalked down the dark path. This wasn’t the first time Jaskier had disappeared in the middle of an event. Seduction was part of the game, and his friend was quite good at it. So he was probably squirreled away in the library or other off-limits room, his hands up someone’s skirts or down a pair of trousers.

And then Lutz realized with a start that the Witcher was also missing. 

What a coincidence. 

Chuckling, he ducked through the next door on silent feet and went hunting.

* * *

The right room was a set of empty guest chambers.

“Don’t need the bed,” Geralt growled into his mouth, big hands working at the ridiculous buttons on Jaskier’s pants.

Jaskier slapped his hands away, then thought better of it. “I’m not fucking on the floor,” he said testily, grabbing Geralt’s hands and putting them on his ass. 

With a snarl, Geralt tore away from their kiss and stomped over to the desk on the far wall. He pulled it out a few feet, its frame squealing in protest, and then with equal roughness, yanked Jaskier against him. “Does his highness approve?”

 _Oh gods_. “Absolutely.” And he yanked the Witcher’s head down for another kiss, this one sloppy. All tongue and teeth and heaving breaths. Jaskier ground against him, the iron-hard line of Geralt’s cock driving him to insanity.

“What...the fuck….are….these….buttons?” Geralt’s tone was snippy, edging toward angry, but Jaskier didn’t take it personally.

He shoved at Geralt’s chest, eyebrow arched mockingly. “The lastest fashion, you brute.” Another slap to Geralt’s hands, who growled warningly. “Yes, yes. Big scary Witcher. Give me a moment and these will be out of the way.” He held up a finger, then poked Geralt in the chest. “You are absolutely not ripping off my clothes. They were expensive and took months to make and some of us have a job to go back to after getting fucked silly on a rickety desk.”

He didn’t expect it to work, but apparently the Witcher was decently steady in his desire to heed Jaskier’s words. He pulled away to let Jaskier work a hand between them and was kind enough - if one could call such a man kind - to not mention Jaskier’s trembling fingers as he undid the row of tiny buttons.

Instead, Geralt busied himself by mouthing at Jaskier’s neck, tongue hot and wet on his skin, driving him to distraction. “You are….a beast,” Jaskier panted, fumbling on the next to last button.

“And you taste good.” Geralt cupped Jaskier’s jaw and tilted his head to the side, exposing that tantalizing line of skin to his tongue and lips. “Never had a spy before.”

Last button _finally_ undone, Jaskier arched against him. “And you never will want to again, after I’m done with you.” He began fumbling with Geralt’s pants and encountered a simple line of lacing. “I do appreciate how unfussy this all is,” he purred, running his palm over Geralt’s clothed cock.

“Fuck.” The word was spat out like a curse and it sent a frisson of electricity through Jaskier. Geralt’s eyes were narrowed and dark, his lips swollen and spit-slick, chest heaving. “Is cocktease part of your job, too?”

“Hmmm, not usually. Adding sex into spying makes things complicated.”

“And this is?”

With a rough yank, Jaskier pulled Geralt’s pants down and exposed what was easily the most beautiful cock he’d ever seen. “About to be the best fucking either of us have ever had, my dear Witcher.”

The growl should have clued him into Geralt’s next move, but Jaskier was only too thrilled to find himself shoved, face down, onto the desk. Rough, callused hands yanked his trousers to his ankles. He was naked from the waist down, exposed, and at the Witcher’s mercy. A thumb traced his crack and he whimpered, thrusting down onto the desk, desperate for friction.

“I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to feel it for a week.” Geralt’s voice was in his ear as a hand cupped his hip, that thumb still teasing. 

“Didn’t know….a room full of weapons would do that to a Witcher,” he replied, voice gone breathy. “But I’d prefer less talking, more fucking.”

Geralt rolled his hips forward, letting him feel the hard, hot length of his cock, rubbing sticky pre-come over one cheek. “Back pocket,” Jaskier gasped, and the torturous rubbing stopped as Geralt bent down to fumble through Jaskier’s trousers.

“Thought you said sex wasn’t part of your job,” Geralt said with a chuckle as his fingers curled around the tiny vial of oil. He gave Jaskier’s ass an appreciative smack, making the other man jump then moan.

“Always be prepared,” Jaskier shot back, grinning madly at Geralt. “Now come on!”

* * *

Library - empty.

Lounge - empty.

Weapon showcase aka wildly gross display of wealth - also empty.

Lutz fumed as he walked down another long hallway. _Fucking Jaskier_. Lutz loved the man to death, but he was always doing something he wasn’t supposed to. It was a miracle they hadn’t been killed, or worse, kicked out of almost every party they attended. At this point in the search he was guessing Jaskier and the Witcher were lost in the hedge maze or trapped in a secret room. Fancy houses had those, right? Secret rooms where you pulled a book and a hidden door swung open.

Why not?

Lutz turned a corner toward the guest wing and heard it. A rhythmic thumping. Wood on a wall. And his bad mood disappeared as he smirked. Clearly someone was having a good time.

A very manly grunt of pleasure rang from behind a door several feet away and Lutz inched forward, aware of the boards that creaked under his feet. He pressed against the wall and listened. If someone was having a torrid affair, he might be able to use that information if he could identify the lovers. 

“Fucking fuck you’re tight. Gods.”

Lutz frowned, rolling that voice around in his mind. _The Witcher?_ Stifling a laugh, he slid against the wall, moving closer.

 _The Witcher_ . _Oh no….._

“Come on, Geralt, I know you can fuck me harder than that.”

Lutz froze, eyes wide, hand tight over his mouth. _Goddammit, Jaskier._ And without any of the grace or caution he’d used to sneak down the hallway, Lutz quickly walked away, face as red as a tomato. He needed several bottles of wine to wipe this moment out of his mind, and he was going to start his drinking as soon as he got back to the party.

* * *

Geralt thrust into the soft, wet heat of Jaskier’s body over and over again, his rhythm punishing as he chased his own pleasure. The man he was fucking responded so beautifully to every roll and snap of his hips and Geralt had never _ever_ been with someone who mewled so prettily.

“Fuck, Geralt, _fuck_ ,” Jaskier panted, pushing back onto Geralt’s cock. He was gripping the desk with both hands, knuckles white with the effort of holding on against Geralt’s assault. The desk creaked and groaned under their combined weight, its edge thumping against the wall.

He was close. Geralt chased that heady, mindless sensation as he gripped Jaskier’s narrow hips and fucked into him over and over again, his own hips crashing into the other man’s perfectly round arse.

“Come _on_ ,” Jaskier bit out. “Make me feel it.”

“Fine.” Geralt bent his knees, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he thrust in and up, his cock hitting that sensitive spot deep inside. Jaskier howled with pleasure, hands scrabbling for purchase as he was fucked faster, harder, deeper.

It was rough and sweaty and fucking _glorious_ and Jaskier knew he was going to be stretched and sore. And later on, back in his little room at the inn, he’d touch his swollen hole and remember being fucked by a Witcher who gave it to him exactly how he’d asked. 

He was definitely being ruined for anyone else.

“Close,” Geralt growled. “Need to pull out.”

“Don’t.”

Geralt let out a sound like a wounded animal, pulled Jaskier up, and put a hand on his throat while wrapping his arm around Jaskier’s waist. It was an intense angle, so much that Jaskier felt his vision go white at the edges. But he was completely in the Witcher’s control and he _loved it_. He was helpless and being fucked over and into and it was the most terrifying, thrilling, erotic experience of his life.

And now with every stroke, Geralt was brushing that spot and Jaskier couldn’t hold out anymore. He barely got a hand on his cock before he was spilling all over the desk and his fingers, his cry of pleasure hoarse and straining against the hand on his throat. 

Geralt didn’t squeeze or put pressure on his windpipe, but the assurance of his touch made something in Jaskier’s brain short out. Two more brutal thrusts and Geralt spent inside him, the heat of his seed scorching Jaskier’s core. The Witcher’s hips kept pumping through his orgasm, pushing Jaskier past the point of pleasure. It hurt, and he was sensitive to every little movement, but he didn’t want to tell Geralt to stop.

He was going to feel this forever. 

Geralt finally released him, his touch now gentle, almost calming. Jaskier felt hands smooth the skin on his hips and then he was empty, almost painfully so. His whole body quivered with it. Jaskier leaned over the desk, lungs too tight for words.

Finally, Geralt moved away and Jaskier heard the rustle of cloth as he pulled up his pants. And then strangely, Geralt was helping him get dressed, gently tucking him back into his own trousers and doing up those stupid, finicky buttons he now hated. “You didn’t have to,” Jaskier panted out, willing himself to turn and look at the man who had just fucked him silly.

Geralt shrugged, looking no worse for wear and still completely gorgeous. While Jaskier knew he looked wrecked. “A rough fuck doesn’t mean uncaring,” he replied, voice now strangely soft. 

A lump formed in Jaskier’s throat but he swallowed against it and grinned. “That was...spectacular. Truly the best fuck I’ve ever had.” He grimaced, feeling the soreness in his back. “Gods I need a bath and at least two bottles of wine.”

Geralt blinked, weighed his options. And mind made up, he said, “I have both back at my room. The inn in town.”

The weight of a job undone made Jaskier frown. “I can’t leave, I still have to take something back to my employer -“

Geralt’s face broke open in a smirk and it did something to Jaskier’s heart. “I might know a few things. People talk around Witchers.”

Jaskier gave him a calculating look. “Two bottles, you said?”

“And a tub.”

“Then lead on.”


	5. Epilogue

“Jaskier! Thank Melitele’s supple ass cheeks.” Lutz rushed forward to give his friend’s elbow a gentle squeeze. After the….unfortunate discovery on the third floor, Lutz had made the proper appearances around the ballroom, danced with a very fine gentleman who Lutz knew was fucking one of the maids, and then waited.

When he didn’t see Jaskier or the Witcher slink back to the party, he decided to wander outside the front of the manor, lo and behold, that’s where Jaskier was standing, fussing once again with the hem of his doublet. Lutz circled the other man, eyes scanning. “The party’s starting to break up. Where the fuck -“

Jaskier held up a hand. “Now Lutz. I might be a bit _distracted_ right now but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost my senses.” He leaned in, voice quiet. “You forget that balm you wear after you shave lingers, my friend.”

Lutz rolled his eyes. “Yes, fine. I heard you fucking the Witcher. Please tell me you have something we can take back to Rainroth. I have a few documents I managed to smuggle out of the study. Naughty things, mostly tawdry letters. But a Witcher…”

Jaskier crossed his arms and that’s when Lutz spotted the stain on the inside of his right arm. _That’s not going to come out easily. And that was a new doublet!_ “Lutz, I love and adore you.” He grabbed his friend’s hand, pulled him into a hug. “I know I’m being selfish. I’ll make it up to you.”

“I want that bottle of Est Est. You know the one.”

“Done.”

Lutz pinched Jaskier’s cheek. “Then all is forgiven.”

The sound of hoofs thundered up the cobblestone path and suddenly there was the Witcher himself, seated tall and proud in the saddle, gold eyes blazing. The Witcher held out a hand and pulled Jaskier into the saddle behind him. “I’m not telling Rainroth about _this_ ,” Jaskier said. “But you can tell him there’s a Witcher sword in this lord’s possession and if he were to retrieve it for the Witchers, I know they’d appreciate it.” He ran a hand over Geralt’s arm and winked at Lutz. “And make sure you check under the carriage seat. I left you a gift. Be good, Lutz. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” the Witcher rumbled, making Jaskier laugh.

The Witcher cracked the reigns and they sped off toward town, leaving Lutz to shake his head. When he was seated in Rainroth’s carriage, he reached under the seat, feeling cold, empty space. Until his fingers landed on something.

Lutz pulled out a thin rectangular box, the wood dark and shiny. He found and opened the tiny latch on the front; inside the box was a gorgeous jeweled dagger, its edge wickedly sharp. A note in the box read:

_My dearest Lutz- I know you have likely forgotten but it’s been three years to the day since we first started working together. You are my closest friend and ally. You see me through all manner of ridiculousness and adventures and for that, I am grateful. But I am even more grateful for you - your spirit and generosity and sense of humor. You are my partner in crime now and forever._

_And now you can stab people in style._

_All my love,_

_Jaskier_

“Jaskier, you romantic fool,” Lutz said as he sighed happily and leaned back against the cushion.

* * *

“A bed? Geralt, you spoil me.” Jaskier pressed against Geralt’s back, feeling those glorious muscles he was keen on exploring flex against him. “Keep this up and you’ll never get rid of me.”

One big arm reached back to push Jaskier even more firmly up against him, earning Geralt an appreciative groan. “Don’t think a spy would be much use on the Path,” he admitted.

“Oh, I don’t know. Imagine it - you fighting monsters, then coming back all gross and exhausted and getting a lovely bath and massage from yours truly.” Jaskier reached up to card his fingers through that lovely white hair. “I can think of worse things.”

Geralt turned and began to push Jaskier into the room, hands steady on his shoulders. “How about we worry about tonight?” His hands moved lower and lower still, until they were wrapped around Jaskier’s hips. “Strip. I want to see you.”

Jaskier shivered at the darkness in Geralt’s voice. “I’m not usually one for taking orders but for you, my dear Witcher, anything.”


End file.
